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The Killer by Stewart Edward White
page 93 of 336 (27%)
them aside as they proved unimportant or not germane to the issue. I had
not the slightest knowledge of the constructions of safes but whirled
the knob hopelessly in one direction or another trying to listen for
clicks, as somewhere I had read was the thing to do. As may be imagined,
I arrived nowhere. Nor did the girl. We looked at each other in chagrin
at last.

"There is nothing here but ranch bills and accounts and business
letters," she confessed.

I merely shook my head.

At this moment Brower, whom I had supposed to be sound asleep, opened
his eyes.

"Want that safe open?" he asked, drowsily.

He arose, stretched, and took his place beside me on the floor. His head
cocked one side, he slowly turned the dials with the tips of fingers I
for the first time noticed were long and slim and sensitive. Twice after
extended, delicate manipulations he whirled the knob impatiently and
took a fresh start. On the proverbial third trial he turned the handle
and the door swung open. He arose rather stiffly from his knees, resumed
his place in the armchair, and again closed his eyes.

It was a small safe, with few pigeon holes. A number of blue-covered
contracts took small time for examination. There were the usual number
of mine certificates not valuable enough for a safe deposit, some
confidential memoranda and accounts having to do with the ranch.

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